


Spring Day

by crackleviolet



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: I need a hug, M/M, Other, This is so angsty, V dies, also huge, it incorporates the original secret ends, suicide warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 21:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackleviolet/pseuds/crackleviolet
Summary: Until this cold winter endsAnd the spring comes againAnd until the flowers bloom againPlease stay there a little longerPlease stay there.(Spring Day, BTS)





	Spring Day

**1996**

“Here…like this!”

Jumin picked up the nearest piece of chalk and pressed it down onto the concrete, shading in the eyes and hair of his clumsily drawn superhero.

As had come to be the usual summer routine, Jumin and Jihyun spent entire afternoons at one another’s house. Sometimes they broke through the hole in the fence at the end of Jumin’s garden and explored the street; other times they climbed the trees and peered out across their tiny kingdom.

Today they had taken to Jihyun’s porch with boxes of brightly coloured chalk, eager to scribble down pictures of their favourite superheroes.

Iron man’s armour and Superman’s boots were pink, with speech bubbles scribbled in a luminous green. Jumin and Jihyun’s hands, meanwhile, were covered in bright smudges of colour where their hands had touched the ground. At some point Jihyun had rubbed his hand across his face, leaving a smear of pink dust. 

Jumin dragged a piece of chalk across the concrete, sketching clouds underneath Iron Man’s boots. 

“He’s going to fly away to Metropolis, just like this…”

“Just to see Superman?”

“Of course!”

Jihyun took a different piece of chalk and drew over the frowning face he had put on his original sketch.

“Superman’s happy,” he said. “Look, he’s smiling.”

“Of course he is, he’s getting a visit from Iron Man!”

“Oh, it’s not Iron Man he’s excited about. It’s Pepper Potts. He wants to take her on a date.”

“But Pepper isn’t coming…and anyway, she’s Iron Man’s girlfriend. Why would she go on a date with Superman?”

“Ah, well, Iron Man and Superman are friends. Friends share the things they like!”

“I don’t know if that applies to people…”

Jihyun, seemingly unphased, reached for the bottle of sugary juice he’d been sipping at in the baking heat.

“Of course it does! See, Superman can take Pepper on dates from Monday to Wednesday. Iron Man can take her on dates from Thursday to Saturday.”

“What about Sunday?” 

“Hmmm,” Jihyun scratched his chin. “I suppose she’ll need a break from all of those dates. Maybe Superman should go to the movies with Iron Man while she’s resting.”

“That’s very considerate of them,” said Jumin. “I suppose they must be meeting on a Sunday this time, then.”

“Oh, you’re right!”

Jihyun moved to set down his juice, presumably to draw other details onto their scene. He misjudged the distance, though, and gasped as it spilled, flooding their drawings in a sea of red.

They both moved instinctively, slamming their hands over the juice in an attempt to rub it away. It only smeared the chalk, though, leaving Iron Man without a head and Superman’s smiling face a blurred mess.

Jumin watched as the colours merged into one, reds and pinks and yellows and green, so closely intertwined that it became difficult to tell which was which.

Jihyun jumped up to fetch a cloth from the house, leaving Jumin to watch in curiosity at the grazes on his hands, blooming through the mix of juice and chalk, shining like a rainbow over his broken skin.

* * *

**1997**

“So if we carry the one and find the multiplier…”

Jumin glanced up from his textbook, expecting a follow up question or observation, only to frown at the confirmation of his worst suspicions. It had been Jihyun’s idea to have a study party, but he had spent most of it with his head resting on one hand, seemingly more interested in the goings on outside of his bedroom window than any equation.

Jumin cleared his throat politely, watching as Jihyun’s wistful expression cleared into one of disorientation.

“Where were you?”

“I…” Jihyun ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry.”

“Something on your mind?”

“No. Not exactly.”

Jihyun looked back at the window, as if searching for answers, which presumably did not come, for he stayed quiet. When he eventually spoke, it was so softly that Jumin wondered if he was really addressing him at all.

“That woman… She came again today.”

* * *

**2002**

_“…and to that I hold. I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone…”_

_“I choose a mortal life.”_

Jumin and Jihyun watched in awe as Narwen let go of Naragorn’s hand, leaving behind the glittering Nevenstar.

They waited on the edge of their seats for the next line, only for it to be drowned out by thudding at the door. They peered over the back of the couch, watching as the maid scurried to greet whoever had come to visit, visibly nervous from the heavy urgency of their knocks.

“Good aft-“

The maid got only midway through her greeting before realising the visitor’s identity and, even though neither Jihyun nor Jumin could see what was going on, it was incredibly obvious from the maid’s hurried apologies that whoever it was was not only unwelcome, but unhappy about it.

“You tell him!” The visitor cried out, their words slurred in the telltale fashion of one who has lost their hearing. “You tell him he’s my son- he can’t keep him from me!”

Jumin turned back towards the television, unable to shake the feeling that he had seen something he shouldn’t have. He chanced a sideways glance at Jihyun, who still peered in the direction of the voices, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Well,” said Jumin, sliding off the couch and wishing he didn’t sound so awkward. “I can’t hear the movie. We should watch it elsewhere.”

Jihyun didn’t answer, but he certainly didn’t protest as Jumin stopped the movie and put it back in its case. They climbed the stairs to Jihyun’s bedroom in silence, Jihyun lost in his thoughts and Jumin reluctant to draw him out of them for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Jihyun closed his bedroom door behind them and rested his back against the grain, squeezing his eyes shut in a failed attempt to block out the woman on the porch.

“It might take a while to get back to the scene,” said Jumin, getting onto his knees to fiddle with the TV. “If you just give me a-”

“Why does she do this?” 

It was rare for Jihyun to have this sort of outburst and Jumin turned to him in surprise, watching as he sank down to the floor.

“Why does she keep coming here…keep saying such idiotic things…”

Jumin wanted to say so many things, but ultimately only one thing felt appropriate.

“She loves you,” he said, thinking back to the movie scene only seconds before. “People act in unexpected ways when it comes to their loved ones..”

“In that case, I hope it never happens to me.”

* * *

**2005**

Jumin didn’t like the smell of hospitals. It was the smell of death, as imminent as it was inevitable, and it permeated every fibre in his clothing and strand of his hair. He thought of it every time he visited charity events with his father, unable to hide the way the chemical scent burned his nose as he posed for photographs. It gripped onto him no matter how forcefully he scrubbed his skin in the bathtub; lingering on the collar of his shirts regardless of how often he sent them away to be laundered.

This time, though, the smell was the least of his worries. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t thought about it all.

He had the luxury of only bits and pieces of the story; the smell of smoke overpowering his imagination. For the first time in all of his visits to the hospital, he had a genuine reason to be afraid of what he might find there.

He stayed silent as Chief Kim showed him into the room; saying nothing even as he approached the bed, both relieved and nervous at Chief Kim’s rapid decision to leave them alone.

Jihyun had recently had something of a growth spurt, yet looked incredibly small in the hospital bed. His face was bruised, his arms bandaged and Jumin was sure he’d never forget the expression on his face. It was as if he wasn’t truly there, staring off into space as if searching the walls for answers. 

Jumin cleared his throat and took a seat next to the bed, lifting his book bag onto his lap and reaching inside for the books and papers he had carefully packed before leaving the house.

“I made a second set of notes for you,” he said, setting them down on the bedside counter, “as well as the recommended reading.”

Jihyun stayed still and silent, as if he wasn’t there. Jumin pretended he didn’t notice, continuing to rifle through his bag.

“Our class signed a card for you,” he said, “we pitched in and bought some candies. Here, your favourites.”

Jihyun still said nothing and Jumin clasped his hands together in his lap. He didn’t know what he had expected to find there, so eager to see his friend that it hadn’t crossed his mind that he didn’t really know what to say to make him feel better. He wished he had brought another member of his class with him, someone who wasn’t as awkward as he was.

“I…um,” he said. “About what happened…I’m sorry for your loss.”

It sounded hollow, even to him, though nothing sounded appropriate. There were no words for situations like this; not one of his lessons on etiquette had prepared him, and he certainly lacked the relevant life experience to draw from memory.

He wanted, more than anything, to say that he was sorry. He was the one who had suggested Jihyun take the time to visit his mother. He wondered if any of this would have happened if he had considered his words as carefully as he was now.

Jihyun began to speak, his voice so croaky that Jumin wondered how long he had gone without speaking.

“She…she saved me…” 

“Jihyun?”

“She saved me,” he said again, turning towards the bedside counter and pile of brightly coloured candies. “Why?”

Jumin knew only the bare bones of the story and the mental image alone was enough to haunt his imagination: smoke billowing from broken windows; the crash of a falling chandelier. He knew he had nothing of value to say, so instead repeated the same words from a couple of years before.

“She loved you.”

It felt strange to say it in the past tense and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how it might feel to be on the receiving end.

Jihyun clearly didn’t know either, for he never replied, instead turning back to the wall and staring back into space, as if going over the words in his own imagination.

* * *

**2008**

“Over here…just… _aha_! Like that!”

Jihyun-no, V-took a step back and clapped his hands.

“Well,” he said, “what do you think?”

Jumin pinched his chin, taking in the bright colours and practised angling.

It was immaculate, that much was true; a portrait of longing in pink and purple. Even so, he couldn’t think of the right words to describe it.

On its own it was perfect. It would certainly attract admirers if presented in an exhibition. The fact remained, though, that it wasn’t in a gallery or even alone. V’s study was full of photographs almost identical to that one, with only V’s own assurances of the imperfections that distinguished them from one another.

Jumin couldn’t help but skim the floor and desks, eyeing the endless rolls of films yet to make it to print; the makeshift darkroom and unpacked boxes.

Over the past few years, Jihyun had taken an interest in photography that quickly developed into something of an obsession. Jihyun spent most of his days travelling between his studio to one site or another to fill his photo albums with pictures of the skyline. Jumin frequently scolded him for how little he was sleeping; how dark the bags under his eyes had become. 

Since his mother’s death, he had been continuously restless, spending so long behind the camera that he no longer seemed to recognise the real world beyond it. One day he would show Jumin a new shot he was proud of, only to have archived it several days later. 

There was no denying that his photographs were beautiful and Jumin could only imagine how they must look to outsiders. Having seen them all, however, he couldn’t escape the underlying sense of desperation in each one, as if each one tried and failed to capture its true subject.

He took in V’s hopeful expression as he examined the picture in front of him, recalling his own observation several years ago.

People were irrational where their loved ones were involved and V was nothing but irrational of late. Jumin glanced at the bookcase on the opposite wall, full to the brim with the leather journals that came into V’s possession after his mother’s funeral.

He turned back to V and forced a smile.

“It’s wonderful,” he said. “The best one yet.”

* * *

**2010**

“It’s beautiful!”

Jihyun chased the shoreline, jeans rolled up to his knee and camera outstretched in front of him. He dropped to his knees to capture the way the sun shone against the tides; his own shadow against the shore.

It had been Jumin’s idea to visit the island and Jihyun’s to bring his camera. Even though he had suggested the break in an attempt to give Jihyun a break from seeing the world through a camera lens, he couldn’t bring himself to tear it away from him. He looked so happy, gasping in genuine delight at every ripple of water and his own footprints in the sand-footprints washed away by the sea only moments after being set in place.

Jumin wanted to tell him that true beauty couldn’t be contained on something so simple as camera film, but it was difficult to follow his own advice. Camera or no camera, this was the first time in at least a decade that he had seen Jihyun so free.

“Jumin!” He cried out, dropping to his knees and setting his camera aside. “Look!”

Jumin walked over to him, concerned that he might have grazed his foot or worse, only to slow his gait when Jihyun lifted the shell in his hands.

“You had me worried there for a second.”

“ _Sssh_!”

Jihyun held the shell to his ear and leaned out towards the sea, trying to focus on the sounds within.

Jumin folded his arms, watching as the sea lapped the shore and drenched Jihyun’s jeans. He didn’t seem to care, far more interested in the sound of the ocean than anything else. 

Perhaps it was hypocritical on his part, but he wanted to capture this moment forever. How long would it be until he got another glimpse of Jihyun laughing? Would Jihyum ever see himself bathed in the sunlight he had come to love so much? 

Despite himself, Jumin reached for the abandoned camera, stealing a picture of Jihyun while he wasn’t looking. 

People weren’t themselves when it came to their loved ones and he didn’t mind being someone else for a while.

* * *

**2011**

Jumin knew V better than most. He could tell when he was tired, coming down with a cold, hungry, annoyed and more.

It went without saying that he could tell when he was nervous, and that certainly seemed to be the case now. Jumin glanced from his friend’s nervous smile to the woman standing behind him, who had bowed so politely at the mention of her name. 

“V has told me so much about you,” she said, “it’s like we’re friends already.”

She spoke so pleasantly that it left him feeling guilty, all too aware of the uneasy look in his friend’s face.

“A pleasure,” he said, stretching out a hand for hers. 

It wasn’t a pleasure, of course, and he trusted that Jihyun knew him well enough to notice. He couldn’t escape the bright colour of her hair; the wideness of her smile as she accepted his handshake.

Never before had he met a person that reminded him so thoroughly of empty landscapes and lonely skies. She reminded him of sunlight-the same rays V so desperately tried to capture on film- and something about it sent a shiver up his spine. 

He had spent so long staring into Jihyun’s desperate portraits of loneliness and longing, yet had never come to consider his own.

He remembered the heavy thuds of Jihyun’s mother’s fists against the Kim’s front door, each one echoing through his heart as Rika and Jihyun laughed in front of him, so engaged in their own conversation that it was as if he watched them through a misted window.

He didn’t know why, but her every word cut into him like broken glass, bringing to mind events that he believed long forgotten-sugary juice seeping through lovingly drawn lines and erasing them forever. He squeezed his hands into fists without meaning to, the ghost of broken skin and scratches as sharp on his senses then as they had been so many years ago.

* * *

**2012**

The first RFA party was a resounding success, which came as a surprise to absolutely no one. The past few months had been a flurry of activity and organisation, communications and last minute checks. It was satisfying to see the culmination of everyone’s hard work, even if he was exhausted at the end of it.

Jumin was only too happy to take a break as the auction came to a close. He left the hall and took a seat in the kitchen, wiggling his toes and flinching at the soreness of his feet.

He couldn’t wait to get home and check his emails, his neglected cell phone burning a hole in his pocket. He reached to switch it on, considering that it would only take him a matter of minutes and it wouldn’t offend anyone if he was very much alone.

As the phone screen lit up, the door opened and he quickly moved to hide it in his pocket, only to change his mind when he saw who had interrupted him.

It was V, closing the door behind him with just as much relief as he had only a short time ago. He squeezed his eyes shut and loosened his tie, visibly startled when he realised he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, Jumin,” he said, every ounce of tension leaving his body. “I didn’t see you there.”

The irony of it wasn’t lost on him; this was the first time the pair of them had been able to talk all evening. Every opportunity he had had to speak to V alone had been interrupted by patrons and Rika alike. Now that they were very much alone, he wasn’t sure what to say. 

He had wanted to congratulate V on the success of the evening, though his own involvement in it left the compliment feeling shallow. In truth, the night was a success for both of them, yet left him feeling so empty that it was as if he had not had any sort of role.

“How goes the auction?”

“They’re about to sell the last item,” said V, taking a seat beside him. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest.”

Jumin knew the piece he referred to; the biggest and brightest photograph in the room. It was certainly beautiful and should have made him happy, but it was difficult to ignore the fact that the more colourful V’s photographs became, the more V himself seemed to bleed away into monochrome. 

His style had changed and he had a different muse, but behind every layer of colour was the same desperation as before. Even his modesty was bittersweet; Jumin knowing all too well that it came from vulnerability just as much as it did humility.

He wanted nothing more than to stay with him, away from the rest of the party. They spoke almost every day, yet it felt as if years had passed without his notice. V was always busy, always out on one adventure or another with Rika.

“Come here,” he said, regret biting through his words even as he said them. “It’s your masterpiece. You should be there when it’s sold.”

V looked just as disappointed as he felt, but got up regardless, standing still as Jumin reached to fix his tie.

Jumin focused on the material, willing himself to keep quiet. He wanted nothing more than for Jihyun to stay, to let him know that he didn’t want to leave him behind any more than he wanted to be left.

He didn’t trust himself to stay quiet if V stayed behind with him; didn’t believe in heart of hearts that he would find the right words now that it mattered.

Jihyun reached out for his hand and Jumin froze in place at the unexpected warmth. He looked up at Jihyun in surprise, never once retracting his hands.

Jihyun’s gaze dropped to the floor, hair falling into his eyes and shielding him from view.

“Jumin, I…”

Jihyun squeezed his hands a little tighter, the silence between them as palpable as a winter breeze.

“I…”

Jihyun took a deep breath and then, as if reconsidering his words, let go of Jumin’s hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, forcing a smile so artificial that it looked far more like a grimace. “Don’t worry about it.”

He shook his head as if shaking away his thoughts and turned away to the door. Jumin watched as he rejoined the party, stepping back into the cacophony of strong perfumes and brightly coloured dresses, leaving the peace and quiet behind

* * *

**2014**

“Do you ever think about the way things used to be?”

V swirled the wine in his glass, watching the shift in colours.

“How so?”

Jumin wondered what had prompted the question. Up until a few moments ago, they had been comparing notes on V’s new exhibition and the pieces he meant to include.

“I don’t know,” said V, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I guess I’ve just been very nostalgic lately.”

“…are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

He laughed bitterly and leaned back into the couch, never once letting go of his drink.

“Do you ever think about the choices you’ve made?”

Jumin raised an eyebrow at the question.

“Not especially,” he said. “I consider most of the pros and cons before trying to reach any true conclusions.”

“Of course,” said V. “That’s just like you.”

He took a sip of his drink, seemingly still deep in thought.

“Do you ever wonder what might have happened if we’d made different choices? If you hadn’t gone to work for your father…if you’d gone to live with your mother…” V paused, grimacing into his wine glass. “If I’d gone to live with mine.”

“A lot of those weren’t our decisions to make,” he said. “And even so…I think that we are the product of our decisions in the end. Even if we decided differently-if I abandoned my father’s name, for example-the person I am now would be drastically different and not necessarily for the better. I wouldn’t have had so many opportunities, financially or in terms of career. We might never have been friends.”

He glanced across at Jihyun, suddenly all too conscious of the tangent he had taken. He did not seem to mind, though, resting in his head in his hand to listen and raising his glass as Jumin fell silent.

“A toast, then,” he said, reaching to tap his glass against Jumin’s, “to living… with the consequences of our mistakes.”

He laughed out loud, apparently at some sort of private joke, before leaning back to swallow the rest of his wine. Jumin did not follow, watching as some of the liquid dribbled past his lips and onto his shirt, leaving a bright red stain behind that gave the impression of an open wound. 

He wanted to ask what mistakes Jihyun could possibly be talking about, though said nothing in the end, instead reaching for the glass in his hand.

“I think you’ve had enough for one evening.”

Jihyun didn’t try and resist him, instead watching the abandoned wine glass with a dreamy smile.

“Jumin,” he said. “Do you ever wonder what might have happened if I’d never met Rika?”

In truth, he wondered almost every day what might have been. He wondered what might have happened if he had never urged Jihyun to see his mother; how things might have turned out if he had called Jihyun back on the night of the first RFA party.

He might say otherwise, but he already had a lifetime of regrets and definitely had lingered over the idea of a world where the pair of them had taken hold of their respective family businesses instead of steadily drifting apart.

“I think you’re _definitely_ drunk.”

* * *

**2016**

Jumin didn’t know anything about medicine, but he knew a dead body when he saw one. His guards had reassured him that he would have needed a surgeon and full operating theatre even if they had gotten there in time.

“Sir,” said the nearest guard, voice trembling from both grief and nervousness. “We have to get going.”

“Just a minute,” said Jumin. “Just a minute more.”

Jumin didn’t know what had happened in the moments leading up to V’s death. He hadn’t heard his last words, nor gotten a chance to say goodbye. Strangely enough, though, neither of those things fueled his anger. 

Nobody had moved Jihyun’s body from the place he had died, leaving him face down on the carpet and soaking the floor with blood from his chest. No one had taken hold of his hand and Jumin had to wonder if anyone had offered any gentle words at the time of his passing.

That, though, didn’t rouse his temper either.

Jihyun was looking right at him, but his gaze was far away, as if peering into the distance. Jumin was oddly reminded of the day he saw him in the hospital after his mother’s death, staring off into space as if searching for answers in the walls.

Jumin wondered if he had ever truly left that room; how much of him still searched for the answers even in death.

Only now he was dead did he truly look relaxed, as if each one of his burdens and worries had finally left him, and that was what infuriated Jumin the most. He could think of nothing but his own words in 2002, that people were at their most irrational when it came to their loved ones. He wished he could take them back; wished he could plant any other idea in his mind but that one. At some point, without his notice, V had taken his simple observation and come to the conclusion that true love meant sacrifice. 

He wanted to tell him what a fool he had been; wished he could take back each one of his mistakes. He wished he had intervened long before V met Rika, even if he knew the outcome would be the same. 

Jumin closed his eyes and pretended the copper smell of blood was wine; that he and Jihyun were still in his penthouse and at the nostalgic stage of drunk.

For a second Jumin forgot Jihyun was sprawled across the throne room carpet and looked like a fallen prince. In that moment it was his friend in his arms instead of a body.

Of course it was disappointing when he opened his eyes again to find himself sitting on the floor, Jihyun slumped in his arms and growing colder by the second. 

“Where are you?” Jumin whispered, as if Jihyun had lapsed into daydreams and nothing more. 

He didn’t expect him to answer, yet still found himself disappointed when V didn’t open his eyes. 

“Where are you?” He said again, shaking V’s shoulder.

He already knew the answer, much as it pained him to admit it. He had gone to a place Jumin could not follow; a place where it was never winter and permanently bathed in the smell of spring flowers.

* * *

**2017**

It took many months to find a buyer for Jihyun’s home. Despite every attempt to keep a lid on the situation, it was only a matter of time before its reputation as a suicide house became national news.

Jumin, of course, was deeply offended at the nickname. Despite rumours to the contrary, one had ever actually died there, deliberately or otherwise. Rika still lived, in a jail cell many miles from there, while V passed away in a castle, far from his own bed.

In truth, the idea of selling Jihyun’s house left him feeling uncomfortable, and he might never have gotten rid of it if the decision had been left to him. Chief Kim, on the other hand, was only too eager to be done with it and found a buyer after the house sat empty for many months. After V’s memorial and the RFA’s own goodbyes. Jumin was the only visitor.

The house remained untouched; rolls of film still left in random places and clothes folded at the foot of the bed. Jihyun’s house phone still blinked to warn of missed calls and his voicemail held a grand total of eighteen messages. He didn’t know how long they had been sitting there and couldn’t bring himself to find out.

Whenever he found a quiet moment, he returned to the house, sitting at the kitchen table and taking in the sound of the ocean outside. He remembered sitting there at the time of Rika’s disappearance, scrolling through his contacts for the number of a private investigator. V had always been reluctant to hire one, and only now that he was gone did he understand why.

After V’s death, most of his family and friends had held themselves at a distance, as if he might explode. They didn’t know what to say and he didn’t blame them. He had been in their shoes more than once, after all. They spoke on the messenger and at the memorial how much they missed Jihyun, but he had never fully been able to relate. He had, after all, missed V for many years, and most of all while he was alive.

When the final sale finally went through, he had little choice but to finally rummage through Jihyun’s possessions. Jaehee and Zen both offered, though he- perhaps selfishly- insisted that it had to be him. He didn’t want to miss any remnant of his best friend anymore than he wanted to miss any fragment of himself.

There was so many photographs and he looked over them last of all, packing every album and loose picture into boxes, examining each before setting the boxes outside of Jihyun’s front door. He had been there when he died, yet still expected him to come through the door at any moment, confused by his empty home.

The last photo sat at the back of V’s wardrobe, crumpled behind a shoe stand and it ripped as Jumin fished it out. His blood ran cold when he saw what it was-a photograph of Jihyun sitting at the shore with a shell pressed to his ear. He recognised the photograph only too well; still remembered the moment he had taken it. 

The strength left his legs and he sank to the floor, the impact of Jihyun’s absence hitting him all at once. They would never go to the beach again-Jihyun would never see how gently the sunlight kissed his hair. He would never again lift his camera, never again pore over the colours of the sky, and Jumin found himself hating him for it.

He moved before he realised what he was doing, storming out of Jihyun’s front door, down the cliffside and lifting each box of photographs to the sky, watching with a fluttering heart as they each took to the wind and landed across the water, too light to break the surface and floating out to sea in a cacophony of different colours-a portrait of a summer sky he would never see again and never wanted to.

Jihyun had died long ago, before ever picking up a camera. Only his body died at the castle and it filled Jumin with rage. He wished he could go back and smash each one of Jihyun’s cameras; take him by the collar and shake some sense into him before it was too late.

Wishes counted for nothing, though, in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t matter how often he wished; how many days he waited for Jihyun to come home; how many photos he cast out across the ocean. None of it mattered now that it was too late.

It was almost too ironic that he only really understood Jihyun now that he was gone. He finally understood Jihyun’s final toast-to regrets, and living with the consequences of their actions. He knew then that he hadn’t been drunk at all.

The water as cold at first and it sent a chill through his body. He stared ahead at the withered tree in Jihyun’s garden and abandoned photographs floating above him, decorating each branch in a flash of cover.

He closed his eyes with a smile, allowing the tides to take him, lulled into sleep by the knowledge that when he opened them again the blossoms would be real and winter would be over.

* * *

**??????**

“Jumin…”

Someone poked his cheek and he frowned, turning over onto his side.

“ _Jumin_!”

That same someone reached for his shoulder and shook him, leaving him no choice but to open his eyes. 

“Where am I?” He said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. He head was spinning and stomach fluttering, every scent and ray of light hitting him all at once.

He was sitting under a tree, the perfume of its flowers gentle on his senses and petals scattered on the floor around him. His face was wet with morning dew and a five year old Jihyun sat next to him, laughing out loud at his confused state. Jumin reached out his hands, taking in their size and the pitch of his own voice, concluding that he was five as well.

Something about it struck him as strange , but he couldn’t quite figure out what.

“Don’t you remember? We’re at my mother’s house!”

Jihyun pointed across the lawn, towards a house surrounded by fruit trees.

“But…that house…” He said, confusion overtaking him again. “It burned down, didn’t it?”

He was sure he remembered the ashes and aftermath, yet could see it clear as day.

“What are you talking about? There’s never been a fire here.”

“No…I suppose you’re right.”

Someone emerged from the doorway of the house; someone he had seen before, though couldn’t quite remember when.

She waved to them both, motioning for them to come into the house.

“Come on, you two, it’s time for dinner!”

Jihyun jumped to his feet, beaming as his mother climbed the hill towards them.

“Coming,” he said, running towards her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Say, did you make our favourite?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” she said, before glancing towards Jumin. He was sure he caught a flicker in her eyes-sadness, or something like it.

She reached a hand towards him, smile creeping across her face.

“Are you coming?”

Jumin stood up, linking his fingers in hers. For some reason, he still felt nervous. His chest was tight and he took a deep breath, turning back to look at the tree behind him. Its petals were beautiful, luminous pinks and golden hues shimmering in the light. Somewhat strangely, its highest branches had been decorated with hanging shoes, each carefully tied together like baubles on a Christmas tree, shifted gently by the breeze.

Something about it was both strange and reassuring, and he turned back to Jihyun’s mom with a smile, flooded with warmth as she stroked her fingers through his hair.

“I’m coming!”

“So what did you two get up to?” Jihyun’s Mom asked as they returned to the house. ‘Return’ being as strange word, as Jumin was sure he had never been there.

“We played the imagination game,” said Jihyun.

“Oh? And what did you imagine?”

“Iron Man flew away to Metropolis!”

“Just to see Superman?”

“Of course!”


End file.
